Goldilocks and the Bear

By Clare London

One week, two men, three Christmas trees.

 

In the week before Christmas, Books 'n' Brews cafe owner Gil discovers his own version of a fairytale romance. His first meeting with handsome bear Bruin is over delivery of a Christmas tree that's way too big. Their next flirtation is over a tree decoration that's oh, so small. By the time Christmas Eve arrives, the pair of them are looking for something that's... well... just right!

• Language: English
• Publisher: CLARE LONDON
• Release date: Dec 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215296417

Clare London

Clare took the pen name London from the city where she lives, loves, and writes. A lone, brave female in a frenetic, testosterone-fuelled family home, she juggles her writing with the weekly wash, waiting for the far distant day when she can afford to give up her day job as an accountant. She’s written in many genres and across many settings, with novels and short stories published both online and in print. She says she likes variety in her writing while friends say she’s just fickle, but as long as both theories spawn good fiction, she’s happy. Most of her work features male/male romance and drama with a healthy serving of physical passion, as she enjoys both reading and writing about strong, sympathetic and sexy characters.Clare currently has several novels sulking at that tricky chapter 3 stage and plenty of other projects in mind . . . she just has to find out where she left them in that frenetic, testosterone-fuelled family home.All the details and free fiction are available at her website. Visit her today and say hello!Join up for her newsletter at http://bit.ly/2WpHlyK and receive a free short story!Clare also writes as Stella Shaw and launched her Love at the Haven series of rent boy romances in 2021.Website + blog: http://www.clarelondon.com / stellashawauthor.comFacebook: https://www.facebook.com/clarelondonTwitter: https://twitter.com/clare_londonGoodreads: http://bit.ly/2lNSfC2Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/author/clarelondonBookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/clare-londonInstagram: https://www.instagram.com/clarelondon11/Quids&Quills: http://www.quidsandquills.com (accountancy for UK authors)

Book preview

Dedication

One week, two men, three Christmas trees.

And hopefully a fairytale romance.

WEDNESDAY 19 DEC

GIL’S STORY

He came through the door of my café-cum-bookstore today like a great forest beast, I kid you not. Tall—he barely cleared the top of the door frame—and wide-shouldered, dressed in dusty working jeans and red flannel shirt, and with full facial hair that would have made Santa himself proud.

Or maybe a younger, fitter, way more handsome relative of Santa’s.

The weather had been minus whatever every day this week, so cold air rushed jubilantly into the café the minute the door opened. I swung around before anyone could complain, expecting to see an inconsiderate customer had left it open in their wake. Books’n’Brews is my business, my haven, and it’s my responsibility to keep visitors cosy. Equally mine is a pathetic bank balance that can’t cope with the cost of fixing the draft around the old wooden frame, not this month anyway.

I was about to call out to whoever it was to shut the door behind them—were they born in a barn? as my Nan used to say—and instead, I saw him. The bear. He was scowling. A small trickle of sweat gleamed on his forehead in the reflection from the counter display lights. And behind him, he tugged a gigantic pine tree by the roots.

Gil? My part-time assistant Molly tugged worriedly at my sleeve. I can see old Mr Brooke out there on the pavement. It’s his usual time to arrive, but he can’t get past the... Her eyes were round like cappuccino cup saucers as she stared at the door. Past that tree.

Excuse me? I hurried towards the giant man, pushing my hair off my forehead for the umpteenth time today: the damn curls resist any product, especially faced with steam from the coffee machines. Can I help you?

He looked me up and down and his eyes widened. Maybe his gaze had lingered appreciatively here and there, but that may just have been wishful thinking. It is nearly Christmas, after all, and I reckoned I deserved a gift of some kind this year, even if it was merely some attention from a burly young man. It’s been too long since anyone looked me up and down in any context at all, you see.

Help me? Not unless you can grow twice your size, he replied, and chuckled. Chuckled! Only he could have carried off such a deliciously warm, relaxed sound.  His smile was generously wide, his teeth white in amongst all those russet-coloured whorls of hair. Or you’ve got a winch somewhere to hand?

For God’s sake. This is a coffee shop, I said. Not a builders’ yard.

Can see that, he said. Smell it, too. I love it. He lifted his face and sniffed the air. His eyes were dark brown, like espresso. Deep. Alert. And twinkling.

Twinkling? I appeared to have fallen into my own Christmas pantomime.

Cuban, is it? The coffee, I mean.

Sorry? I blinked hard. He looked back down at me, his gaze